'I could turn you in — but I will not do it.'
'Oh I know what you want then!' she chided, rejecting his presumed advances with a sneer. Still, she wondered if she should give him his pleasure, just to gain a few pence in the hand.
'You know nothing. I can help you.'
'To what? To the stocks now and a sickly bastard in ten months' time?' Could he tell that she knew all about that?
'To a new life.'
'Oh you are a preacher!' The scavenger burst out laughing. Forget nurturing her soul. All she wanted was a bite to eat — and now she thought about it, she wanted that badly. She was so thin that even at the height of summer, she felt chilled to her fragile bones. Her weakness nowadays was dangerous; if a hue and cry started, she had no energy to run.
'I will not press religion on you,' promised the man. 'Not unless you choose that course. But those who do have faith and who have gone away to a new life in a better country, good honest people all of them, need healthy wenches of good character and spirit to serve them in their homes. I recruit for them. Were you wanting to escape your misery for a respectable career, in a land of hope and prosperity, I could show you the way to it.'
'Nobody would want me.'
'No one need know what you have been or where you come from.' He played his best card: 'I am walking now to an ordinary for a meal. Come, if you want. Eat with me at my expense and simply listen. Where will be the harm? No obligation. None at all.'
Of course she went. He knew what he was doing. A free meal would buy anyone. He knew how to time it, when they were desperate. Just as the light was fading and the evening chill set in, when they were tired after a long and useless day… Picking them up off the streets was his job, and he was unfailingly expert. Once he had lured her to the depot, in nearby St Giles-in-the-Fields, he would take his commission and vanish. Others would keep her secure. Fed, given a warm bed and safety, provided with a clean gown and cap, promised freedom and light work as a treasured servant in a respectable home in the colonies, she would be ripe for the bearers of contracts. Like many before her, she would 'sign indentures', make her mark on them voluntarily, listen while their importance was 'explained', not know she was being bamboozled and sold into something close to slavery…
It was no different from luring virgins into brothels, though it sounded better. He had done both, so he knew that both played on loneliness and fear, hope and misplaced ambition. The victims were young, most of them willingly entering into apprenticeships. By the time they saw they had been betrayed and were to labour in the plantations until they dropped, there were a thousand miles of ocean between them and home, with no chance of appeal. This one, along with so many others, had nobody to miss her.
She was his now. Her name hardly mattered. She was about to disappear, from Covent Garden, from London, even from England. She had been 'spirited'.
Chapter Forty-Eight — Colchester: 1648
The groom who had escorted Juliana to London was still hanging about the town house. He had taken up with the live-out maid so refused to return to Sussex, claiming to be afraid of soldiers on the road. Juliana could not persuade him. This was the problem with patronage. When it worked, life was easy; when it stopped working, dependants were trapped. She had no authority to give the servants orders. She did not want to lose the time it would take to write to Pelham Hall about it — and nor was she keen to travel with a hangdog, reluctant guard. Undaunted and longing to regain her children, she found a carrier who would take her. Luckily it was summer and there were plenty still working.
She reached Pelham Hall at the end of June. A good woman in the village had been caring for Tom and Valentine, who fell upon her in floods of tears, though she soon ascertained they were simply making her feel guilty. Now they at least were back together. There was no sign of Lovell, of course. Her sons kept asking where he was, as though he was their favourite parent.
There was bad news. While Juliana was away, Sir Lysander Pelham had been found dead in his bed. He had had no illness to speak of, though his daughters would claim he was broken-hearted by failure in the second civil war. With Sir Lysander gone, it was made plain the Lovells were no longer wanted. Although no efforts would be made to evict Juliana and her children while she was helpless, just as soon as her husband returned to her, the family would be expected to move on. It would be useful to start packing now.
Juliana accepted this precarious position calmly. She had tolerated Sir Lysander Pelham but never liked his relatives. She managed to remain polite to them through the month of June and into July, hoping her husband would reappear to claim her. Then, that wish was superseded. Reading news-sheets brought Juliana a great shock. Earlier than any of them might have hoped, she was able to oblige the hostile Pelham women.
The Royalist revolt's promising start had been systematically foiled. Oliver Cromwell had battened down in Wales, besieging rebel-held castles; once Tenby and Pembroke fell, he was free to go north and deal with the invading Scots. Juliana paid most attention to what happened in Kent, where her husband was supposed to be. There the Royalists had a large, well-organised army, support from the navy, towns and castles in their control, and a hoped-for welcome from the City of London. They had expected that Fairfax, now a lord after his father's death, would march the Parliamentary forces north, to block the Scots' army; they pinned their hopes on that army defeating him. Instead Fairfax took a small but highly experienced body of men to quell the insurrection in the south-east.
As he rode into Kent, Fairfax meant business. His reputation went before him; Royalist desertions began immediately. Although the rebels had recruited superior numbers, these were misguidedly divided between Maidstone, Dover and Rochester. There was a bloody fight at Maidstone, which Fairfax captured, street by street over the course of five hours. Elsewhere, Rich relieved Dover Castle and Ireton took Canterbury. On the promise of good treatment, many Royalists dispersed. Within weeks, the last pockets of rebellion were being mopped up.
Now came a change which was to horrify Juliana. The main Royalist army in Kent was commanded by the Earl of Norwich, Sir George Goring's elderly father. Lord Norwich moved towards London; he reached Blackheath on the outskirts, still full of confidence. However, when a fight seemed imminent the City lost heart; Norwich found the gates closed against him. Skippon was protecting London itself, while Whalley had ridden over London Bridge with some of the New Model Army men to take up a position in Essex. These were both reliable commanders. Harried by Parliamentary cavalry, Norwich moved down into Greenwich where he crossed the Thames northwards, with just five hundred desperate men either ferried in small boats or swimming their horses over. More than two thousand other Royalists had deserted and fled.
Away in eastern Kent, Fairfax deemed it safe to leave subordinates to finish restoring order. He crossed the estuary by boat from Gravesend to Tilbury. On the north side of the Thames in Essex, Royalist support at first snowballed, but just as quickly it spontaneously collapsed. Suddenly their situation looked desperate. Norwich sought refuge in Chelmsford from where, with Sir Charles Lucas and other leaders, he moved on to Colchester, which was Lucas's home town. Fairfax was dangerously close behind. Intending to stay only one night, the Royalists persuaded the Mayor of Colchester to admit them.